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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855488">a mother lost, in memory found</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/griefiary/pseuds/griefiary'>griefiary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>mothers of a dead boy [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canonical Character Death, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jason Todd Needs A Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:41:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/griefiary/pseuds/griefiary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason has a nightmare.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Catherine Todd &amp; Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>mothers of a dead boy [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a mother lost, in memory found</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mama, wake up.”</p><p>Jason jolts awake, breath hard and heavy. He reaches up, to wipe the wetness away from his eyes. The words echo, some deep, long-forgotten part of his mind unearths itself before him. Not a night terror, but a memory. One that he’d long suppressed. Jason closes his eyes again, screws them shut tight, and forces his mind to grasp at the images, though it’s only started fading - like sand slipping through his fingers. </p><p>His mind takes him back to a dingy little room, the smell of mold and something mildly acidic thick in the air. The only light source is the window, Gotham’s street lights illuminate the space in an unnatural, warm orange. There isn’t much, a mattress, a nightstand with a lamp - one well read copy of Wuthering Heights rests easy and seemingly untouched in weeks - and a plastic bag of colorful pills is spread through the room’s carpeted flooring. Next to the mattress, two bottles of water. The boy is holding the third, pushing it up to the lips of the woman on the mattress, though his own are chapped and his skin is breaking. He’s too skinny, Jason knows, for anyone his age. He also knows that the boy doesn’t care. </p><p>“Mama, wake up,” he says again a little more urgently, and this time, the woman finally opens her eyes. She smiles up at him, though the look in her eyes are distant, she’s beautiful. Stunning, even. Her name is Catherine Todd. The little boy’s name is Jason Todd. The boy pushes his hand against his mother’s forehead while she drinks, flopping back against the bed. She sighs, carding her fingers through his hair. Jason realizes then, what memory this is. </p><p>“I’m good baby, mama’s good. Go get your book, read to me again. Can you do that for me?” There’s clarity in her voice when she asks, though hoarse and slurred. Jason watches with horror, as the younger boy scrambles to stand and reaches for the nightstand. The book looks too heavy in his frail hands, though he neels besides his mother again all the same. He flips through the pages, searching for where they had last left off. </p><p>When he starts, the worlds melt into the hazy memory. Jason doesn’t pay attention to himself. He keeps his eyes on the brunette woman, his mother, though not by birth. She shuts her eyes when his younger self finds his flow, and there’s a contented smile on her lips when she listens to him. There’s a hollow in her cheeks, a blooming bruise on her jaw - black and purple. It’s been there a while, and it isn’t healing. Regardless, she hums, weak. She looks so peaceful like this. </p><p>Jason isn’t sure how time passes right here, right now. He thinks he sees the moment she doesn’t nod along to whatever his younger self is reading to her. Her head lolls to the side, and the hand she’s using to hold his goes loose. The boy puts his book down, pushing it back onto the nightstand. And he knows. Jason knows he knows. </p><p>“Mama?” He asks, despite his gut telling him not to, to leave and not come back. She doesn’t respond, and he asks again, “Mama?” Jason flinches, hearing the way his smaller’s voice cracks. He shifts his head, pretends not to hear the hitched sobs and the pleas that threaten to pour out of him.</p><p>And then silence. He hears the way the flooring shifts under his weight, when he rises to stand. The older dares himself to look again, to see his younger self wipe his tears away with the sleeve of his red hoodie. His lip still wobbles, but he steels himself, inhaling sharply. 𝘚𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱, big boys don’t cry.</p><p>He’s seen enough. Jason knows how the rest plays out. The Alley held her grip on him, even now.</p><p>He opens his eyes again, finds himself in his bed, warm, and older, and alive. Breathing. Living. Present. Glancing to his side, his heart pangs seeing a different, but similarly worn copy of Wuthering Heights on his nightstand. An explanation for an old habit. Answers.</p><p>The alarm clock reads 04:37. Jason turns to lay on his stomach again, watching as the blue numbers tick by in the darkness. A half hour passes, before he feels the fatigue start to wear him down again. His heart beats steady, calm. When he closes his eyes, laughter erupts in the far reaches of memories fresh. His stomach coils with dread, and he curls in on himself instinctively. But he pushes back, drowns it out, focuses on the last echoes of his mother’s humming, loses himself to it completely. Enough demons, enough of steel and bone, of worms and wood for one night. For now, he rests.</p><p>Jason shuts his eyes, and when he starts to drift between the waking world and that of the dead anew, he thinks he might feel a weight running through his raven locks. He doesn’t startle though, lets himself melt against the touch, and finally, he slips back into the deep abyss of slumber.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on tumblr under "griefiary"! :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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